


home is wherever i'm with you

by sweetestsight



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Halloween Costumes, Light Angst, M/M, a gentle halloween fic honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27314539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetestsight/pseuds/sweetestsight
Summary: “Crystal.”“No.”“Crystaaaaaaaaal.”
Relationships: Chris "Crystal" Taylor/Roger Taylor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25
Collections: The Clog Factory Halloween Exchange 🎃





	home is wherever i'm with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MeddowsKingRat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeddowsKingRat/gifts).



> Just a gentle modern halloween-y fic for your saturday night reading!! I swear I set out to write a thriller, but sometimes the fluff just happens <3333

“Crystal.” 

“No.” 

“Crystaaaaaaaaal.” 

“I said no, Roger.”

Roger pouts at him, his feet dragging against the pavement as he allows himself to be tugged along. It would irritate Crystal more if he wasn’t so light. He has half a mind to just scoop him up and carry him fireman style, but he resists the urge. Roger would probably see it as a reward for bad behavior. 

That, and it would just make this whole situation look even more ridiculous. 

He wished he’d had the foresight to make someone order them a lyft, but he hadn’t really had room for his phone in his costume. Roger had brought is, but it had died within the first hour of the party. That had come as absolutely no surprise, but it added insult to injury anyway.

“You’re being mean to me,” Roger says sadly. Crystal rolls his eyes. “Why are you being so mean? I don’t deserve it.” 

“Don’t deserve it? You—“ 

“I didn’t do anything to you. Why are you being like this to me?” 

“You,” Crystal starts, then huffs. “You’re unbelievable.”

It was no great mystery why exactly Crystal was so irritated. It was Roger’s own fault, in fact. Roger was the one who suggested the stupid bet in the first place—in fact, Roger had been riding on the knowledge that he was most likely too drunk to win scrabble that night, and Crystal knew that he was more than ready to take the punishment. Crystal hadn't even known what he'd make Roger dress as; not really. Something kitsch and ugly and horrible.

That's not what happened, though. Instead, Crystal had ended up playing the worst game of scrabble of his entire life. And now here they are. 

Crystal isn’t even mad about that; not really. A bet is a bet, and it isn’t the fact that he’s wearing a dress that has him so angry. It’s not that at all; it’s a combination of things. It’s—

“I can’t read minds,” Roger says pointedly. He stumbles against an uneven paving stone, slumping even further against Crystal’s shoulder. “Ow. That hurt my toe.” 

“It’s what you deserve,” Crystal mutters, still seething. He can feel a blister forming under the edge of his sensible 2-inch heels. Sensible is what Freddie had called them when he’d proudly presented them, anyway. They sure don’t feel sensible now. 

“Some nurse you are,” Roger murmurs. “I’m hurt, and all you’ll—“

“I’m _not_ a nurse, in case you forgot,” Crystal snaps, whipping around. “This was your idea!”

He probably should have better calculated that move. By turning he ends up flinging Roger in a wide arc, sending him stumbling across the pavement until he tumbles into the grass beside them. 

Roger’s face crumples. “Owwwww—“

“Roger—“

“That—you _dropped_ me, you fucking—“ 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Crystal says earnestly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“I thought you love me. How could you just drop me like that?”

He chooses to ignore that one. “Let’s get you up, alright?” He says instead, reaching down to help Roger up. 

“It’s gonna bruise—no!” Roger whines and smacks his hands away. “I don’t want to stand up!” 

“Well, you can’t stay here all night,” Crystal huffs. “You don’t want to sleep on the cold grass, now do you? I _will_ leave you here.” 

“I don’t mind the grass. The grass is comfy.” 

“It’s freezing out, Rog.” It is; the dew point has dropped, leaving the grass wet and cold. Roger is about to be the same way.

“No it’s not,” Roger murmurs. “I don’t feel it.” 

“That’s because you’re pissed.” 

“Mmh. Hey, Crystal?” 

“What, Roger?” 

“Do you really hate it that much?” He’s blinking up at Crystal now, dark lashes fanning slowly over drink-bright eyes. The shadows his eyelashes cast are a warm purple, pretty against the golden glow the street lamps are casting on his cheeks. 

“What?” Crystal asks faintly.

“The costume.” 

“I look ridiculous in it,” he says flatly, fighting not to fidget.

“No you don’t.” 

“Yes I do. You _chose_ it because you knew I’d look ridiculous in it.” 

“Maybe I just wanted to see you in it.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure you did.” 

“Mmh. You make a pretty nurse.” 

Crystal huffs. He bends his knees until he falls hard on his bum, sitting down on the concrete and adjusting his skirt to preserve what modesty he has left. “Thanks, Roger,” he says as insincerely as he possibly can. 

“I mean it,” Roger says with a frown. 

“Sure you do.”

“I _do.”_

Crystal doesn’t answer. Now that they’ve stopped moving the cold is settling in, all his hair standing on end. Part of him is glad that he actually bit the bullet and shaved his legs for this. He can’t imagine leg hair would have felt comfortable beneath the stockings.

The other part of him wishes he had the extra insulation.

“Gonna take care of me later?” Roger asks softly, his voice rough.

“What?” 

“You dropped me on my bum. It’s gonna bruise. Are you gonna take care of it later?” 

“Take care of your bum?” Crystal asks, skeptical.

“Mhm. Kiss it better.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“That’s not fair.” 

“Not fair? Roger, you’re the one who decided to try to outdrink Prenter of all people and then leave me to carry you home in a _dress,”_ Crystal gripes. “It’s fucking cold out. I’m freezing my balls off.” 

“Aw, Crys.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Crys, don’t be angry,” Roger implores him, blinking slowly again. Crystal looks away pointedly. “I don’t want you to be angry with me.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Crystal grunts.

“Is that why you’re mad?” Roger asks softly. “Because I left you alone?”

“I’m—of course not. That’s pathetic.”

“I’m very sorry,” Roger says earnestly.

Crystal huffs. “Where did you even go?”

“I had to—” he hiccups “—to help Ronnie, because someone spilled Blue Curacao on her and she didn’t know how to get rid of the stain. And John is useless with clothes.”

“Right,” Crystal says flatly.

“And then Prenter saw me leaving the bathroom and asked if Ronnie was holding my hair up for me. And then he called me a lightweight! And neither of those things are even true!”

“And that’s why you—”

“Yeah, that’s why I challenged him. And won.”

“You didn’t really win,” Crystal says.

“Whatever,” Roger says, hiccupping. “I’m—anyway, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I swear it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm. Promise.” His voice drops to a purr. “We’ll get home, and—“ 

“I’m not fucking you tonight. You’re way too drunk.” 

“Tomorrow, then.” 

“You’re going to be sick tomorrow,” Crystal says flatly.

“How do you know that?” 

Crystal just raises his eyebrows at him.

“Okay, maybe,” Roger allows, tilting his head. “Maybe not, though. I bet I could still—if you wanted—“ 

“You don’t _owe_ me sex, Roger. Just...stop.” 

“...you don’t want it?” 

“Of course I want it,” Crystal replies, because one unfortunate part of being a 22-year-old who occasionally hooks up with his frankly gorgeous roommate is the fact that he can’t stress enough how infrequently he _isn’t_ thinking about fucking Roger’s brains out. “Not if you don’t, though.” 

Roger blinks at him, honey-slow. “Well, okay. Maybe I won’t want it tomorrow. I’m sorry if I don’t. Won’t. Whatever.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care,” Crystal tells him, because as much as he wants to scoff at the whole situation, the honesty on Roger’s face demands honesty in return. It’s rare, for them. “You’re my friend first and foremost. Always have been.” 

Roger hums. He leans back on his palms, letting his neck go limp until his head is tilted back. “Okay,” he says simply. 

“Okay,” Crystal says back. 

He follows Roger’s gaze. The sky is beautiful tonight; it’s the first night this year that the air is well and truly chilly, their breath clouding in front of their faces, but the cold brings the stars out the way it always does. It’s no wonder that Brian ducked out of the party early. 

For a moment they just look up at the sky together silently, Crystal doing his best not to shiver and Roger a little too drunk to feel things like cold. He can still hear the music playing in the house they just left, the bass pounding through the walls and drifting down the street. Someone somewhere is smoking some truly horrible weed, the stench undercutting the smell of decaying leaves and wet grass. 

It’s nice.

“You’re such a good nurse,” Roger says quietly into the darkness. “If you’re taking care of me tomorrow will you even wear the outfit?” 

“I’m lighting it on fire the minute it’s off me,” Crystal replies serenely. 

“You don’t want to hold onto it? Not even for one more night?” 

Crystal rolls his eyes, standing gracelessly and holding his hands out for Roger to take. “Get up, idiot,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

Roger sighs, forlorn. “Home,” he repeats, taking Crystal’s hands and allowing himself to be dragged up. “Our home.” 

“Mhm.” 

_“Home is wherever I’m with you,”_ Roger warbles quietly, leaning against Crystal’s shoulder once more. Crystal steadies him without even thinking about it; it’s second nature at this point to wrap an arm around Roger’s waist and pull him closer. 

What’s less normal for them is the way Roger leans into him, pressing his body against Crystal’s own and leaning up to press a sweet, clumsy kiss against the corner of Crystal’s mouth.

It’s not the first time he’s ever kissed him—far from it. It’s not even the first time he’s kissed him like this, outside of the safety of their beds and in a way that blurs the lines between friends, fuckbuddies and something else; something he wonders time and time again if they’re drifting toward, and if they’ll ever be brave enough to actually discuss. 

It’s not the first time. It’s always like this: always sweet, never discussed, always when one of them is too drunk to walk straight. 

So, he handles it like they always do. 

“Come on, you,” he says, tugging Roger forward and resuming their course down the street toward their building. 

He pretends it never happened. 

Tomorrow they’ll emerge from their beds no earlier than noon. Roger will groan about his headache and Crystal will make coffee and they’ll order eggs and chips and greasy sausages on Grubhub and refuse to leave the flat all day. Freddie will come over around dinner time, mostly to recount all the drama from the night before that they’d missed after they left, but with a hidden agenda of stealing any supper they may have. They won’t; they never do. Maybe the three of them will leave together and go bother Brian or John or Ratty for food, or maybe they’ll hit a pub. 

The stupid fucking nurse costume will be thrown into a crumpled heap in the back of Crystal’s closet. He’ll keep it there just long enough for Roger to forget about it, and then maybe some dull day in mid-December he’ll pull it out again. Maybe. 

_Maybe._

And maybe one day they’ll talk about whatever it is that’s going on between them. Maybe one day Roger will actually ask about the warm feeling Crystal gets in his chest every time Roger falls asleep on top of him or brings him tea or looks at him with a little too much honest appreciation. Maybe Crystal will tell him the truth. 

For now he just adjusts his grip on Roger’s hip and leads their ambling, directionless footsteps in the direction of home.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy halloween everybody!


End file.
